Crutches
by Liberty Roth
Summary: Puck/Rachel. “You’re a crutch,” he told her once, whispering it hotly into her ear as he lifted her shirt up a little too high.


Fixed the there/their thing in the first sentence! Thanks to rolley2001 for pointing it out to me. There's a reason I shouldn't write past my bedtime.

* * *

Their relationship was odd, if nothing else.

"You're hot," he told her once, crushing his lips to hers in a dark corner of the gymnasium. It had been a stupid idea, coming to a dance that Quinn and Finn were using as an excuse to hang all over each other. But Puck had been there, taking occasional (and too-eager) swigs from his punch. Rachel had suspicions that it wasn't pure punch and had come over to his corner of the gym to tell him to stop being stupid. After all, the principal had warned that if _any _alcohol was present, they wouldn't have a spring dance. She wanted a spring dance, if only for the dream that Finn might end up taking her to it. Instead of a rude hand gesture or anything like that, Rachel had ended up with… a make out session and the taste of vodka on her tongue.

"You're a crutch," he told her once, whispering it hotly into her ear as he lifted her shirt up a little too high. He brushed a warm hand across the flat planes of her stomach, his fingertips skittering over her curves. She didn't mind being referred to as a crutch. They were both broken, despite desperately needing healing after having their respective hearts pulled from their chests and shredded apart in front of them. They both _wanted _to have someone to hold hands with, to kiss, and to hug during the scary parts of the movies. So what if they both imagined they were kissing someone else while they made out?

"You're _insane_," he told her once, his voice a hiss as his eyes whirled wildly around the room. Rachel had, in a moment of heat, accidentally claimed that Puck was taking her to the spring dance so that Quinn wouldn't get suspicious of her feelings for Finn. Noah was angry for a while, before reluctantly showing up on her doorstep wearing a black suit.

"You're too good for him," he told her once, drunkenly making statements at yet another dance. Rachel frowned, even as he started to touch her hair and sway with her in time to the music.

"You're walking me to the door," he told her once, stumbling out of her car. He _needed _someone to walk him to the door, she guessed, otherwise his face would hit the pavement. It nearly _did _a few times, but she managed to half-drag him into his room. His mother was gone, hosting some activity of his sister's at her intermediate school.

"You're hot," he told her once, pulling her onto his bed. His palm pressed against the back of her neck, pressing his lips to hers. Noah carefully tilted her head back, forcing her lips open. Though it wasn't really a force, if it was welcome. Even as he started to peel off her clothing and push her dress up over her hips, no alarms went off. It was all welcome, she guessed. She was tired of being responsible, tired of waiting for a boy that wasn't ever going to come.

"You're in my room," he told her once, looking shocked as he saw the blankets tangled around her naked legs.

"You're in my bed," he told her once, the shock fading away as pieces of the night came back to him. Rachel imagined she should be embarrassed to let him see her naked, the sheet only covering about half of her upper body – and not the half it _should _have been covering.

"You're warm," he told her once, mumbling it into her shoulder as he let his arm twist around her waist. His lips touched her skin softly, leaving small red marks whenever he sucked his breath in. Noah was giving her hickies, something Rachel guessed she should probably be worried about. But they were easily covered up with a well-placed turtleneck and stage makeup.

"You're legs are soft," he told her once, his hot and moist mouth traveling up the inside of her thigh. He kissed her in every spot he could reach, ending her junior year of high school with sparks.

"You're not my crutch," he told her once, looking straight ahead as he drove. His fingers were wrapped around the steering wheel a little too tightly, as if he didn't want to admit this but knew he had to. Rachel leaned over, kissing him on the cheek and slowly unwinding his right hand from the steering wheel. She held it in her lap as he drove.

"You're my girlfriend," he told her once, informing her of this for the first time. It seemed stupid, how she had once mourned over the fact that she didn't have a boyfriend. Now it seemed trivial to be called someone's 'girlfriend.' They were more mature than that, less grade school and more 'fifty year anniversary.'

"You're a doctor," he told her once, letting the words of truth spill over his lips. She had healed him, sort of, stitching back his heart bit by bit. The damage done by Quinn had left him, fading into a scar that had the name, 'Rachel' etched onto it.

Their relationship was perfect, she decided, and nothing less.

* * *

IDK. I'm really tired. I think I was half-crazy when I wrote this. Maybe I'll edit it later, to be more smutty and less fluffy and more sensical and less non-sensical.


End file.
